Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama), Carole Williams [ebook reader 8 inch .TXT] 📗

on his lips, to open the front door and trot down the steps to help with the baggage, Vicky glanced up at the Georgian edifice with awe.  The Hall always got her like that.  It was impressive and she defied anyone to say any different.  But it wasn’t home.  It was the place where she had been born and grew up, at least it was where her infant years and many school holidays were spent, but it wasn’t home.  A real home was where one had warm and welcoming parents and one’s siblings would be in harmony with each other.  Here, in this grand, cold, old stone building there was only an elderly butler to greet her, lots of cavernous rooms filled with artefacts and antiques and a haughty elder sister who couldn’t even be bothered to welcome her.  Vicky shivered involuntarily, wishing she had booked into a hotel in Manchester for the night and travelled up with Barrie the following day when her father, Richard and Ruth would also be arriving.  Still, she was here now and would have to make the best of it.

“Good evening, Lady Victoria.  It’s very nice to see you,” said Hardy politely, taking her bags out of the boot.

“Thank you, Hardy.  Likewise,” she smiled, alighting from the car.  “Is my sister at home?”

“Lady Delia has a migraine.  She is in her room, resting now.  I will send Mrs. Hardy up to make her aware of your arrival.”

Vicky grinned wryly.  “There’s no need, Hardy.  I am sure she won’t be at all interested,” she said, glad to put off the meeting a little longer.

Hardy, having witnessed how Delia hadn’t always been very kind to Victoria as a child and young teenager, was pleased to see Victoria looking more assured and confident than he had ever seen her and with the happiness and excitement of Lady Delia’s coming nuptials, hoped it would stay that way.  Little did he know that the peace and tranquillity of Canleigh would soon be shattered yet again.

*   *   *

The telephone on the hall table was ringing when Philip flung open the back door of the house and even though the sunshine was strong outside, the house felt cold.  He pulled off his muddy boots and walked across the sunken flagstones to the telephone.

“You don’t mind if I give tonight a miss, do you, darling?” asked Delia.  “I’ve a dratted migraine that I can’t shift and added to that, Vicky has just arrived.  I didn’t think she was coming until tomorrow and now I’ll have to grit my teeth and make polite conversation … when all I want to do is lay in bed in the dark.”

Philip’s heart sunk.  He needed Delia’s company, hoping once they were together all the doubts he had about their impending marriage would disappear.  He really didn’t want to go to Jim’s birthday party tonight on his own.

“I’ll come over,” he said quickly.  “I’ll entertain Vicky for you and you can stay in bed and then, if you feel better later, you can come down and join us.”

“Definitely not,” Delia said firmly.  “You can’t let Jim down.  He’s your best friend and your best man and it will do you good to get out without me.  How often do you get the chance?  Make the most of it because once we’re married I’ll never let you out of my sight … and that’s a promise Philip Kershaw,” she said lightly.

“What about Vicky?” he asked, making a last-ditch attempt at getting out of the party and to dispel the awful sense of doom Delia’s last words had imparted.  From a young age, Delia was dismissive and scathing about her younger sister but Philip thought Vicky was sweet and kind and he wouldn’t mind spending an hour or two in her company.

“Oh, I’ll put up with her silliness for a while, then hotfoot it off to bed.  She’ll just have to lump it.  She’ll probably want to try on her bridesmaid dress but I can’t face all that palaver tonight …  which reminds me, have the tailors delivered your suit yet?”

“No.  I don’t think they have,” Philip replied, his wedding attire the last thing on his mind.

“Oh, Philip!  You’re absolutely hopeless.  Do get on to them first thing in the morning.  We don’t want a major panic on our hands because you’ve nothing to wear.  You will, won’t you?  You won’t forget.”

“No,” Philip sighed, thinking what a stilted conversation this was for a couple who were supposed to be madly in love and about to get married.  “No, Delia.  Don’t worry.  I’ll see to it.”

“Good.  I’ll have to put the phone down now.  My head has never been so bad.  I’ll see you in the morning … and don’t drink too much.  You don’t want a hangover tomorrow when all the family are here.”

“No, Delia.  Of course not.  See you tomorrow,” said Philip, swallowing hard and wondering why he didn’t just tell her to go to hell.  He was a grown man and if he wanted to drink too much he damned well would.

*   *   *

Sue Cartwright, proprietor of ‘The Tack Shop’ in Harrogate, drove her smart new white van towards Tangles, butterflies in her tummy because she was about to see Philip Kershaw.

“He’s out of bounds,” she muttered, turning off the Harrogate road and up the track leading to the Tudor mansion.  “He’s getting married in two weeks’ time.  For goodness sake girl, get a grip.  He’s not for you.  He belongs to the high and mighty Lady Delia Canleigh.”

God, how she detested Delia, a snobby, self-indulgent cow, and who, from what Sue could see, had everything.  She was the daughter of a wealthy Duke, lived in a splendid Georgian mansion, had time and money to do as she wanted, owned expensive horses and worst of all, was engaged to Philip Kershaw, whom Sue had adored